


The Monsters of Asgard

by OkieDokieLoki



Series: Monsters of Asgard [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Beauty and the Beast Elements, F/M, Intersex Loki, Jötunn Loki, M/M, Mpreg, Not Thor: The Dark World Compliant, Post-Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6179191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkieDokieLoki/pseuds/OkieDokieLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Avengers AU where Loki is forced to wear his Jotunn form and Thor does something incredibly rash that changes him forever. Will he be able to accept his past and his new way of life or will his criminal brother get him to see what has always been in front of him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The Allfather stood straight and proud, any emotion purged from his face. The single eye of the Allfather, his own father, bore into the war criminal that he had brought back from Midgard. The war criminal that had been his younger brother, before he had taken the responsibility of ruling in their father’s absence too seriously, attempting to destroy Jotunnheim. He then Fell, only to attempt to conquer Midgard for no reason besides that he felt that he needed a throne. Said war criminal was currently laughing maniacally at the gathered attendees of the Thing.

Odin slammed the butt of Gungnir onto the dais silencing the crazed man that had been his brother. The dark-haired man fell silent, though an arrogant smirk played about his thin lips. Their father began, his voice deep and rich with enchantment,“I, Odin Borson, King of Asgard, and All-Father of the Nine Realms, hereby declare Loki Laufeyson an exile of Asgard and I cast you out. For your crimes against the humanity of Midgard and Jotunnheim, I sentence you to spend twenty-five years living on Jotunnheim. I also release you from the enchantments binding you to any form but your true self until you learn the importance of _all_ life. This is the sentence of the All-Father, so mote it be.”

He flinched, his mother sobbed beside him. Loki laughed, his pale complexion deepening to a midnight blue, chased with silvery lines; his crazed eyes flooding with crimson.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty-Five Years later and so much has changed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Brief non-graphic non-con

**Chapter 1**

_Twenty-five years_. Twenty-five years was such a long time. So much had happened in twenty-five years. He had shaken his insanity, most of which was caused by his suddenly and surprisingly revealed heritage. The first couple of years had been rough, filled with self-loathing, pain and danger. The Jotunn were not pleased to discover who he truly was and what he had done. However, he eventually, through small tricks and favors to prove his usefulness, found a place in the court of his younger half sibling, Helblindi. He discovered the truth that had been hidden from him as a child: Underneath their terrifying exterior and foreign culture, the Frost Giants were the same as the Aesir or any other race for that matter.

His de-spelling finally solidified into it’s current state at about the two year mark. So many things that separated him from his Aesir family and Thor’s friends were revealed to have purpose and meaning to his true people. His dark hair was the only color possessed by the Frost Giants, though many opted to shave their heads to allow the sensitive ridges there to operate fully (The ridges served many purposes: filling with and channelling ice, sensing even the smallest stirrings of air, and, if stroked properly, a near orgasmic effect which usually led to intercourse). His headaches were caused by his suppressed horns, which had ironically grown to resemble his helm. His seidr, a womanly art among the Gods, was revered among the Jotunn, giving him the position he craved, but had stunted his growth, making him a runt, half the height of the other adult giants around him. His aversion to extreme heat was rather obvious, ice literally flowing through his body through the patterned ridges and heritage lines. His dislike of overcooked food was due to his digestive tract, which had not tasted a single cooked item in twenty-five years. His attraction to both sexes to the point of utter confusion during adolescence revealed the deepest secret of the Jotunn - their lack of gender and the combination of both sets of sexual organs. A secret that he would carry to the grave, his days of giving and taking pleasure past, due to his minuscule stature among his own kind and his combined sexuality among those of his adopted family.

Now his sentence was complete and, while leaving Jotunnheim was almost painful, he felt compelled to return to Asgard. The Jotunn were in need of an ambassador, an Aesir of sorts who understood them and who would fight to restore the dying realm to it’s former glory. He was the obvious candidate. His appearance among the Aesir would cause alarm, he was certain, but he needed to see his family and he needed to help his true people. Twenty-five years was a long time. In fact, he was surprised that his brother had not come to rescue him long before now. Maybe Thor had truly changed on Midgard, his rash decision-making replaced by reason. Either way, he was going home, he could feel it in his bones.

_ _ _ _ _ _

 _Twenty-five years_. Twenty-five long years ago today, his world had changed. His brother (adopted, but still), had been sentenced to Jotunnheim and had become one of those monsters before his very eyes. So he had done what any sensible Aesir male would do: He found the dingiest, shadiest pub in the golden city and got wasted.

After he had become thoroughly drunk, he had found the first busty barmaid who was relatively willing to lay with a prince ( _The_ prince) and had, of course, sewn his oats. He had treated her poorly, taken his rage out upon her in his sodden state, mounting her as one would an animal and thrusting into her harshly from behind. It was shameful, he knew now, but then in his stupidity, drunkenness, and rashness he felt that it was in his _right_ as the heir apparent to dominate her in his grief over the lost of his brother to the creatures of Jotunnheim. It was only after he had laid with the lady that he realized his true mistake.

She lay before him on the ruined mattress, halfway off the bed, a head wound bleeding profusely from when he had thrust too hard, her head colliding with the headboard in his haste. It was as his own horrendous behavior was becoming clear to him that the woman he had molested revealed her hand.

“You _monstrous BEAST!"_ she had shrieked, her hands sweeping down her body and dropping her homely glamour to reveal a beautiful Light Elf. “You think you can take whatever you want without recompense?! A true _creature_ , ruled by your **base** nature.”  

Her now languid and beautiful body unfolded from the stained mattress, her hands sparkling with seidr. His eyes widened, terror setting in now, Mjölnir safe back at the palace, just out of his reach. “I-My Lady, I was wrong to use you in such a debasing way,” he stammered, hands raised. “Please-” he knelt, “I beg of you. Forgive me...forgive me.”

She stood over him, her eyes flashing. “Never - _monster_. Beast I dub the, so beast you shall be!”

He remembered nothing after until the following morning. The day was hot, too hot for early May. His bed sheets were rumpled and torn as if by a knife, his body ached and his mouth was dry. His hangover was the worst it had ever been, he couldn’t even stand to make his way to the bathing chamber off his bedroom. He had crawled, eyelids and head heavy, the light of the sun shining far too brightly for his taste.

All was forgotten when he had reached his destination. A beast he had become, just as the witch had declared him. His hands, strong and calloused, worthy to wield the mighty Mjölnir, had become paw-like, coated in dirty-blonde and gold fur, the palm now a rough pad, the fingers, shortened and tipped with vicious claws. His feet resembled those of a wolf or a lion, his heels forced up into the air. It took weeks for him to gain enough balance to walk on his toes, the scratch of the claws becoming a sound that accompanied every step. Even then, it was just easier to walk on all fours, like the animal he truly was. He had sprouted a tail between his buttocks, long, shaggy fur over every inch of his once pristine body, and sensitive, tufted ears on the top of his head, poking out through his thick, golden mane. His jaws and nose thrust forward into a short, wrinkled snout with an underbite, two brutish fangs poking out over his upper lip in a perpetual scowl. Only his eyes remained unchanged, still a clear, shining blue.

He had sequestered himself in his rooms after that. Bilskirnir was only accessed by his parents, disappointed in his wrong decision and their rather poor luck of having two monsters for children, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, who visited only when forced by the royal couple, and one mute servant who laundered his clothes, cutting holes in his breeches for his tail to pass through and repairing his ragged scarlet cloak, and brought his meals, primarily raw meats still warm and bleeding from the kill as very little else sat well in his creature stomach.

Yes, twenty-five years was an awfully long time and today marked the return of the only person whose opinion of him really mattered, the only person that he longed for in his current state, the man who had never really stopped being his younger brother. The man, he vowed, whom would never see him this way.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prodigal son returns

**Chapter 2**

When the Bifrost deposited him in the golden Observatory of the Watcher, the first thing he noticed was heat. His skin, so used to the comfortable cool of Jotunnheim nearly sizzled with the vast difference in temperature. With a soft murmur, he increased his seidr to quicken the flow of the ice along the ridges of his skin, helping to cool his body. The second thing he noticed was the blinding light of it all. Jotunnheim, in her half-deceased state, had no sun. The light of the land came from the aurora borealis and the single moon that hung in the sky. Blinking rapidly, his eyes adjusted to the shining, glittering gold that surrounded him and found the man and the woman who had raised him.

Bowing deeply as he kneeled reverently, he uttered, “My King, my Queen. I have completed my sentence and have returned to you. I await your final judgement and humbly ask that you accept my position as ambassador to the Frozen Realm.” He pressed his right fist over his heart in a sign of fealty, hoping beyond hope that it was enough.

“Rise, Loki Laufeyson, ward of Asgard. Your sentence is ended and your new position is finalized.” He raised his horns in disbelief, his unsettling eyes alighting on the man whom had spoken before flickering to the woman beside him. She beamed, clearly delighted that he had survived and learned from his time on Jotunnheim, and opened her arms to him.

Forgetting all sense of propriety, he rose quickly and raced into her arms. “Mother,” he breathed into her pale neck, causing her to shiver against his cold embrace.

“Loki,” she replied, stepping back and taking his face in her hands, studying it thoroughly. Her eyes lingered on his horns, tracing them as well as the heritage lines that carved into his navy skin. Finally, she met his eyes, her own filled with nothing but love and joy, and murmured, “How I have missed you, my precious boy.”

He smiled back at her, his lips pressed together to hide his mouth full of fangs. “And I you, Mother,” he breathed.

His eyes left her face to scan the circular chamber. Heimdall was at his watch, his golden eyes scanning the horizon and beyond, protecting the realms. The King of Asgard also stood nearby, allowing the two of them a bit of privacy in their reunion. He looked weary but relatively pleased. A lesson learned, a sentence served, and an ambassador gained for the world that none really wanted to visit. He gave Loki a small nod before moving off towards the entrance.

“Where is Thor?” he asked, his gaze falling back onto his mother’s face. It fell, her eyes not meeting his.

“Twenty-five years is a long time, Loki,” she began, grabbing his hand and walking them towards the entrance and the horses that awaited them outside. “Thor did not take your banishment, however temporary, well. He has been facing a punishment of his own, one that no one appears to be able to break. He has locked himself in Bilskirnir and refuses to leave, only allowing a few to enter.”

His brow furrowed, pulling at his horns. “May I see him?” he queried.

“If he will see you,” Odin replied, already seated upon Sleipnir. “There is but one person, a mute maid, that sees him daily. As his parents, we practically have to beg him for entry. The Warriors Four are even less lucky, though they don’t appear to mind as much.”

“Why?” he asked, quieting the horse that had been brought for him. It was not pleased by it’s given rider, his monstrous form nor his unfamiliar scent.

“Thor is changed, Loki. He has no ambition, he is without a plan. A navigator lost at sea in a storm, no star to follow,” Frigga explained in metaphor. She suddenly smiled. “You may be just the direction he needs, Loki.”

“But I am nothing but a Frost Giant runt. If I have learned anything in my time on Jotunnheim, it is how small and relatively insignificant I am.” He had finally gotten the horse to accept him and climbed into the saddle, the leather chafing against the bare skin of his calves and worrying the ridges that resided there.

“Those that people think nothing of are sometimes capable of doing the most remarkable things,” his mother, in all her wisdom proclaimed with a bright smile. She spurred her mount forward and he quickly followed, mulling over her latest proclamation and wondering what it had to do with his older brother.

_ _ _ _ _ _

He smelt him long before he heard him. His nose, a rather poor mixture between his Aesir nose and the snout of a lion or bear, was his most sensitive feature in this form that he had inhabited for so long. He inhaled again, lingering on the hints of Loki through the odor of the Frost Giant: the well-worn book pages and candle wax hung about the edges of the stench of winter and death.

The footsteps, still light and graceful had now taken on a feature that he himself knew well: the clatter of claws on marble and the skitter as they ricochetted off the polished stone. He was coming this way, towards Bilskirnir and towards him.

He moved quickly, ducking into a shadowed alcove behind a thick curtain where he could watch his younger sibling and pass unnoticed by the other man. There was a knock, followed by the sweetest sound he had heard in the last twenty-five years. “Thor?” The sound of his name leaving his brother’s lips was music in his darkness, deep yet crystalline, floating through the air like the most beautiful melody. “Thor, may I come in?”

He held his breath, not responding, waiting for Loki’s next move. As he suspected, a closed and bolted door did nothing to deter the determined God of Mischief. With an echoing click, the bolt slid back and the door swung open, squeaking on it’s little-used hinges. “Thor?” the voice came again as blue fingers, tipped in slightly curved ebony claws wrapped around the edges of the door.

Accompanied by the scratch of claws, Loki strode into the room, waving the door shut behind him with a resounding clang. Thor’s breath caught. The Jotunn that stood before him was not the same one that had been shipped off to Jotunnheim. This one was the same height and slim build, yes, but his hair hung in a long, thick braid, tumbling down his back to stop just above his coccyx. A pair of majestic and arching horns, like those found on the Muspelheim demons, erupted from his brow, reminiscent of his ceremonial helm. He wore little, only a loincloth slung low about his hips, and he seemed perfectly comfortable with that. The silvery lines that did Norns’ know what, glowed with a faint silvery light in the gloom of the room, the windows boarded and covered with tapestries to keep out prying eyes. The younger man’s eyes were no longer clouded by insanity but were sharp and intelligent once more, scanning the foyer and no doubt noticing the changes that the room had undergone: the deep gouges in the walls, the broken and smashed furniture, and the shattered objects. In one sense, Loki looked dangerous and powerful amid the ruin; the other, he was simply beautiful, an angel amid the chaos.

“Thor,” he breathed, softer than a whisper, “What happened to you?” He gave no response, watching the small Frost Giant intently. His nostrils, still the same as they had been before the reveal of his true heritage, flared as he inhaled deeply. Thor’s brow wrinkled. _Jotunn scent things too?_ No doubt the blue man was being assaulted by his cloying, wet dog smell. There was really nothing else in this blasted self-imposed prison to pick up on. The ruby eyes widened and then flickered about quickly, still unable to find him in the darkness.

“Well, seeing as you apparently do not wish to welcome your once-brother home, I shall be going.” The Jotunn turned on his heel and strode towards the door. Hand, still slim with long, sorcerer’s fingers, paused on the handle, he turned his head back and addressed his alcove directly. _He knows I’m here!_ he thought frantically, wondering what he would do if Loki changed his course and did not leave him be.

Instead the other man gave a small, reassuring smile, revealing that his mouth was full of rather savage looking fangs, and tenderly said, “I will be back on the morrow, Thor. Maybe you will be will to at least speak with me then.” With that, the massive doors to Bilskirnir were opened and the blue man exited, head high and proud, strides purposeful.

Thor, alone again, slid down the stone wall behind him to sit on his haunches, his tail wrapping around the front of his feet. Raising a paw-like hand, he rubbed his misshapen face and growled. “What am I to do now?”


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when two monsters meet?

**Chapter 3**

“Alright, Thor,” he projected into the now familiar hall of Bilskirnir, “It’s been a week. I know that you hear me, I know that you’ve been watching my every move. How about you say something before I come looking for you. It’s not fair that you may gaze freely upon my hideous form while I have seen and heard nothing from you.” He summoned a ball of fire in his claws and held it aloft, spinning around slowly. “You have exactly ten seconds to say something or I will launch this light and find you in whatever condition you happen to be in, whether you want to be seen or not.”

He heard a sharp inhale from behind the only non-shredded tapestry in the hall. Trying to hide a smirk, he looked anywhere but there, wanting to give his brother the sense that he had the upper hand. As his internal clock wound down to one, he heard a growly voice that resembled the one that his older sibling possessed before his banishment. “Leave me in peace, Loki.”

He smirked, the fangs on the right side of his mouth flashing in the light of his fireball as he cocked an eyebrow. “Well, it is delightful to hear your voice after all these years, Thor,” he chuckled. “Now that we’re talking to each other, shall we talk further about what it means to be a monster among Gods? After all, we are in the same boat, are we not? Or have you just been cursed to smell like a wet dog?”

“I mean it, Loki,” the rumbling voice of the Thunderer replied. “Go. Away.”

He banished the ball of flame with a wave of his hands and held them up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, darling Brother. I will leave you alone - for now. I’ll see you later, though. We’re having dinner together tonight.” He crowed with laughter as he practically skipped from the room, delighted to be making progress with the once-Aesir whether the other man wanted it or not.

He quickly traversed the halls, his blue form still causing a bit of distress among the populace of Asgard, and ducked into his mother’s private sitting room. Frigga was sitting with her lady’s maids, spinning and gossiping. The maids froze when he entered, their eyes widening as one of the ladies released a surprised squeak. He bowed deeply, smiling with his lips pressed together kindly.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Ladies, but I was wondering if I could speak with my Mother alone.” The women quickly rose and curtsied, first to him and then to the Queen of Asgard, and swept, en masse, out of the room. He rose, his eyes meeting the stormy grey orbs of the woman who had raised him. “I apologize, Mother, for interrupting your gathering.”

She smiled brightly at him, scooting over and patting the settee beside her. “Of course not, Loki. Please, have a seat. We’ll talk.”

He smiled back, allowing his fangs to be revealed in what he hoped was a nonthreatening manner, and sat beside her, leaving a gap between them. He did not want to freeze the woman, especially since she still viewed him as her child. “I went to see Thor again today.”

Her smile faded a bit, as her brow furrowed. “Did he respond to you?”

His smile got wider. “After a bit of prompting, yes he did.” Her face melted with delight, her hands coming to cover his with a gentle squeeze.

“That is wonderful news! What did he say?”

“He told me to leave and that he meant it.” He laughed, throwing his head back in mirth. “So I told him that I would be back and that we would be eating dinner together.”

Her face fell. “Is that such a good idea? After all, he spoke to you, that does not mean that he wants to eat with you.”

“Mother,” he said calmly, “He needs to realize that sitting in his own misery over a stupid mistake for twenty-five years is not going to do him any good. It is not going to break his curse if he will not allow anyone to see him except for you and father.” He shifted, turning a bit in his seat to look at his Mother in the eye. “I am only trying to help, give him the jump start that he needs. After all, he cannot go on pretending that he is the only monster living in these gilded halls. If anyone can understand me, it is Thor. And if anyone can understand Thor, it is me.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

The mute maid came first, bearing a tray of food that was overloaded with raw meat, bones, and scraps of organs and body parts that the cooks couldn’t do anything with. His mouth began to water, his underbite doing little to stop the drool from leaking out of his maw. He licked his chops, eyeing the platter hungrily.

Once the maid left, he quickly scurried to the table and clambered into one of the two chairs, wondering where Loki’s food was. He hurriedly pushed the thought aside. The Jotunn was not here at the moment, and, if he was lucky, he would arrive after he had consumed everything on the platter that his stomach allowed him to. He reached forward and snatched a bit of horse liver from the platter and stuffed it unceremoniously into his mouth with a contented growl.

“Well, aren’t you a handsome fellow?” He froze, the fur of his ruff and along his spine rising warily. He sniffed, the hint of winter reached his nostrils, though his meal was blocking most of the scent. _Norns damn you, Loki_. He sighed.

“Go away, Loki,” he growled.

The clicking of the other man’s claws on the marble sounded as he rounded the table and sat almost primly opposite him, a large, obnoxious smile plastered onto his face. “Hello Thor.” He glowered back, wanting to swipe the smug expression from the blue being’s face. The Jotunn gestured with one hand as the other reached over and grabbed a bone. “That’s not so bad, Thor, in all honesty. What is it: a cross between a lion, a wolf, and a man? It’s a good look.”

He stuck the bone into his mouth and bit down on it, crunching through the it and sucking out the marrow as he chewed. “It’s nice to have someone on the same diet too. We could start a program: The Monsters Who Lunch. Doesn’t that have a nice ring to it?”

“Shut up, Loki,” he growled back, baring his considerable teeth.

The Jotunn swallowed and growled back, his rows of sharp teeth displayed menacingly. “Two can play at that game, Brother,” he replied, his eyes glowering darkly. He grabbed a mutton chop and stuck it wetly into his mouth.

He placed his rather massive paw-hands on the table and leaned forward. He knew that he was considerably larger than the slim Jotunn runt, hoping that intimidation would get the other man to leave him in his lonely misery. Loki stood, leaning forward as well, seidr playing at the fingertips of his left hand as an ice dagger manifested itself in his right. “Don’t push it, Thor,” he muttered darkly. “Because I can return it, tenfold. I survived and thrived the wastes of Jotunnheim where _everything was larger than me._ You are positively _tiny_ in comparison.”

He sighed, and sat back, regretting the action immediately as his tail was pinched in the process. Shifting to release the unhappy appendage, he grumbled, “Now you see me, Brother.”

The Jotunn’s brow furrowed and cocked his head slightly as he chewed slowly. “Thor, I have _always_ seen _you_. Just as, I hope, you see me.”

He too, cocked his head, his ears laying flat against his skull. “I do see you, Loki.”

The other man beamed around his full mouth, a bit of blood caught in the corner of his lips. With a chuckle, he reached forward and snatched another item off the platter.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Routines and deep conversations

**Chapter 4**

Life fell into a routine, just as he liked it. His mornings and early afternoons were filled with meetings, discussions of policy, and public panels and rallies in support of the Jotunn cause. Progress was being made slowly, much to his delight, and the delight of the Jotunnheim court, to whom he reported regularly. His afternoons and early evenings were spent with his not-so brother, his visit concluding with dinner, where neither of them had to worry about disgusting the Aesir with their unsavory diets.

The afternoons and evenings led to revelations. It took a while for Thor to confess what had caused his transformation, and, while turning a man into a beast seemed rather extreme, he was horrified by the actions Thor had taken. Loki, in turn, shared his early years on Jotunnheim where he had lied and cheated his way into his half-sibling’s court, killing to prove his worth and to avoid his own execution. Other, far less deep, conversation topics were breached, of course. Thor shared his walking lessons, complete with recreating his stumbling steps. He, in turn, had shared the multitude of times that he had nearly been stepped on, a midget living in the land of giants.

It was in those hours spent with Thor, something began to grow within his cold and icy chest. The rather hairy man was not his relation, he never was, and so, he did not feel badly about allowing the tender emotions to grow. Something told him that the Thunderer was beginning the warm to him as well. Yesterday, Thor had even given him what could only be classified as a smile, though it was certainly a bit frightening to see at first. He strode into the hall, not even bothering to knock, allowing the bang of the door to announce his arrival. “Thor?” he called, scanning the entry hall and not finding the large, shaggy man.

“Sitting room!” came the gravely reply. He quickened his pace and whirled into the room with a shy smile on his face. Thor was perched, as was his wont, on an arm chair, his claws poking holes in the ruined cushion. He was occupied with his favorite pastime. His animal-like hand traced the handle and head of Mjölnir tenderly, his eyes, still very much his impossibly blue orbs, gazing at the hammer so lovingly. Loki’s eyebrows knitted, wondering if, one day, the other man would look upon _him_ that way, with such love that the worlds seemed to revolve around it.

Thor’s eyes, not leaving the weapon for an instant, grew sorrowful. “Can a monster be worthy?” his rough voice asked, as if to himself and not to the other monster who stood there beside him.

His mouth opened slightly, surprised by the depth of the question posed by his once immature brother. He had asked himself a similar question multiple times, coming to so many different answers over time. Answers, and other questions. He inhaled sharply. “What is a monster?” he replied quietly, taking in the form of the other man. While he was covered in golden fur, walking about on animal hindquarters or all fours, and ate with a snout, the being before him was still very much Thor, God of Thunder, heir apparent to the throne of Asgard. He was noble and kind, though quick to anger and prone to rashness. He fought to protect the people of the Nine from others, including himself, misguided though he was. Thor would forever be the shining pinnacle above him, causing him to live in the shadow of greatness. That greatness belonged to a man, not a monster, no matter his exterior.

Despite his swirling thoughts that pointed to the contrary, he straightened and looked fixedly at the other man. “Aren’t we _all_ monsters, to some extent, Thor?” He cocked his head and waited for his not-brother’s take.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“What is a monster?” The question in response to his own about worthiness gave him pause and pulled his attention from Mjölnir, the glorious hammer that he had been unable to lift since that night twenty-five years ago. He closed his eyes thinking about the question. Wasn’t he a monster? He certainly looked like one. He had acted like one before this form was thrust upon him and had wallowed in his misfortune ever since.

“Aren’t we _all_ monsters, to some extent, Thor?” That gave him pause. The Jotunn who stood before him had as subject a past as he did, and yet, since his return, he had a very heroic view of the man. He was viewed as a monster, yes, his skin that beautiful deep azure and painted with intricate silver lines as the creature that parents scared their children with in ghost stories and tales. But he could not be one, not in his kindness and compassion. News of his work for the people he had once tried to destroy had even reached his sequestered hall, drifting upon the breeze about the palace and the city.

“I think we all have done things that others can view as monstrous but does that, in turn, make men into monsters?” he replied, his eyes meeting the bright rubies that belonged to his younger brother. The horned man gave a small smile.

“I believe that forgiveness and second chances are what make us human.” His smiled widened. “This is a much deeper conversation than I was planning on having today, but -” He paused, becoming serious, “I am glad that you trust me enough to have it.”

He chuckled in an odd, rumbly purr. “As you said upon your return, Loki. We are alike, you and I. There is no one else I can talk to about-” He sighed, gesturing over his inhuman body, “This.”

Loki closed the gap between them, standing before him, a hand’s breath away. There was something that was written across the ridged face, an emotion that he couldn’t place. He found himself lost in the deep scarlet eyes and missed the other man’s movements.

A hand, cool but not icy, came to rest on his shoulder. He flinched, his head whipping around to stare at the thin, blue hand. It was the first touch from another being that he had had since that night twenty-five years ago.

The hand flexed, claws gently pricking his skin. “Thor,” the silver tone murmured, “ _You_ are not a monster. You never have been, you never will be.”

He looked up at the horned man, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. “Neither are you, Loki.” The blue face smiled sadly, the horns tilting slightly to the left. The hand left his shoulder and caught the first tear as if fell, soaking his coat as the cold thumb brushed along what had been his cheek.

“Thank you,” the Jotunn breathed.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Do you think the prophesy will come true, my dearest Lord?” Frigga asked, perched on the arm of Hlidskialf.

“Of which prophesy do you speak?” her husband intoned, his gaze distant, watching the two boys that they had raised at their supper, secretive smiles playing at their lips.

“You know which, Odin. The one that the Norns foretold at the blessing Loki when he was a babe.”

“Ah,” the Allfather breathed. “ _Monsters of men and men of monsters driven apart in difference will find their common ground to allow peace to bloom and love to take root between two warring peoples._ ” His eye swiveled to find her with a smile. “We may only hope, my darling. Only time will tell us if this is fulfilling the prophesy.”

She smiled happily, turning her gaze back to her two sons in her eldest’s chambers. They looked happy, content in their similar but different states of un-Aesir, laughing at they tossed what she considered to be table scraps into the each other’s fanged mouthes. They looked like her little boys again, one gold, the other black. The sun and the moon. Heat and Cold. The Warrior and the Scholar. Two sides of the same coin, as it always has been and as she hoped it always would be.


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an anniversary!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of a heat cycle and depictions of genitalia occur

**Chapter 5**

It had been twenty-six years since he had woken in this form. There were nights that he had dreamt that he had never changed, that he would wake up in his more tasteful, less furred body. And yet, the sun still shone, the worlds still turned, and he remained...hairy. He blinked in the morning sun and uncurled his body like a dog or a cat would. He stretched, hooking his claws on the edge of his headboard while stepping back with his haunches, feeling his back pop satisfactorily. Today, Loki had promised to come earlier so that they could celebrate his first year of freedom together before he left again for Jotunnheim, with a newly drafted peace treaty of his own design for the people of the Frozen Realm as well as the Casket, on the morrow. He would remain there for six months, returning before winter truly set in and made Jotunnheim icebound.

He felt rather selfish, wanting the blue man, his not-brother, to remain with him in Asgard instead of going back to his true people, however temporarily. But, unlike himself, Loki had accepted his new lot in life and his position among both of his peoples. One that was worthy of a prince of two realms. He would be loathe to keep Loki from fulfilling his destiny, his greatness, that he knew was always there. He just wished that he had the courage to be like the younger god, to stride among the Aesir with even the illusion of confidence in his monstrous skin.

It was one thing to be himself within his hall, his ill-luck witnessed only by his parents, ‘brother,’ and the silent maid. Even during visits with the Warriors Four, he had remained hidden from their sight, speaking to them from behind a curtain or tapestry and weaving lies that would make Loki blush. Lies about why he was hiding away in Bilskirnir, ashamed of his face and body and how he came to look the way he did.

He went through his toilet quickly, bathing and even attempting to brush the matted fur that covered his frame with middling success. It was all in an effort to mark the occasion, and to reveal something that he had been hiding for many months now. Something that could end poorly for him if the other man was disgusted by it.

As the sun crept upwards and his midday meal was brought, Thor began to worry. He paced, claws clicking across the marble of the foyer as his two hands functioned as front legs, the four points rooting him to the ground. He muttered, grumbled, and growled about his stupidity for trusting the God of Lies, for allowing the blue Trickster to wiggle into his life in such away. To grab his heart and yank it from his bestial chest, finally ending his misery and securing his spot on the throne of Asgard. A Frost Giant ruling the Aesir.

A soft knock sounded on his door, causing him to stop and spin to face it, a growl held low in his throat. “Thor?” the worried voice of his mother called through the door. “Thor, Darling. Please come quickly. Loki has taken ill. He is asking for you.”

Not waiting for the woman to finish, he ripped the bolt back and threw open the massive doors as if they weighed nothing at all. “Will he be alright?” he asked, towering over the small Aesir woman as he stood on his hind legs, his hands bracing the doors open.

“I have never seen whatever sickness he has contracted,” she confessed, evidence of tears staining her fair facade. “He is feverish, refuses to eat, and cannot conjure ice. He moans constantly and writhes about on his bed, clawing at himself. His body almost appears to be shifting through the fever in subtle ways. When he is coherent, it is only when he says your name or hears another say it.”

“How long has he been like this?” he asked, worry settling into the pit of his stomach.

“The maid came into his chambers at mid-morning and found him in his current state. I would assume the it struck sometime in the night.” She wrung her hands, tears threatening to overflow her eyes again. “Thor, I know that I cannot ask this of you, but, please-”

Not waiting to hear the completion of her request, he leapt forward, leaving the safety of his hall for the first time in twenty-six years, and raced on all fours through the gilded halls of the palace. He was certain that he was terrifying the palace staff, visiting dignitaries, and warriors of the realm as he tore through the halls, his claws skittering on the marble and getting caught on the carpets. He slid around corners, his massive shoulders slamming into the opposite walls due to his lack of traction on the stone, and stumbled over the transitions from stone to carpet.

He was grateful that the doors to his not-brother’s hall were open as he slowed his torrid pace. He skidded to a stop, attempting to dig his claws into the marble with little success, and face planted rather ungracefully at his father’s feet. Odin looked down at him, rather bemused, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Thor,” he intoned. “Glad that you could join us. I think Loki will be glad to see you.”

Feeling slightly like a child when he been caught playing with Gungnir, he picked himself up and rose to his feet with a bit of a shake, his fur shifting along his broad back. He loomed over the ruler of Asgard, a fact that made him want to bow his head further as he began to feel the eyes of the healers and servants focus on him and hear the murmured questions. Thor. _Did you hear Thor? I think he said Thor. That is not Thor. That is a hideous thing. A monster. How did it get it? Why hasn’t the Allfather struck it down? Is it Thor?_ The whispers, something that he had never been the brunt end of, made him want to curl up into himself and disappear.

He refocused, his eyes looking down on his father intently, his fingers and claws flexing. “What must I do, my King?” he asked, the whispers caused his ears to swivel about, chasing them before flicking back to the Allfather.

“I have cleared the room. Go to him, but be wary. He is not himself.” His brow furrowed, worried by the other man’s implication that Loki was not in his right mind. He experienced a quick flashback to Midgard during Loki’s assault and sent a prayer to the contrary Norns that the Jotunn had not returned to his homicidal state. The shorter man must have picked up on his train of thought because he quickly interjected, “It is not what you think. He’s in what is referred to as Heat. It’s completely natural for the Jotunn.”

“How often does this occur?” he asked, concerned. Jotunn and heat did not coincide.

“It differs. Depends on the individual. Come along. Best not keep him waiting.” He inclined his head towards the horned man’s bedroom.

He walked, a bit uneasily on his ‘back’ legs, beside Odin and into the blue man’s bed chamber. “Loki,” the older god called from beside him, “Thor is here to see you.”

“Thor?” a rougher version of Loki’s silver voice floated through the air, followed by a thick swallow. “Thor?”

The Allfather nudged him forward towards a rumple of sheets and pillows on the bed. “Go,” he whispered, head inclined.

He cleared his voice with a soft growl. “Yes, Loki,” he replied softly, “I’m here.”

He took a couple of steps towards the bed, his not-brother coming into view. He stopped dead in his tracks. The royal blue body was flushed to an extremely attractive purple, the silvery ridges standing out prominently. His chest was heaving, two small swells rising and falling with the ribcage. _Breasts? Loki is male, he can’t have breasts, Besides, those were most certainly not there yesterday._ The Jotunn moaned, his hands trailing down his body, one grabbing one of the odd swells, the other latching on to his impressive erection. The Jotunn threw his legs open, right in his line of sight, revealing something that the Thunderer did not expect. His eyes widened, the smell of arousal washing over him. He turned his shaggy head towards Odin.

The Allfather nodded, and inclined his head towards the man overwhelmed by sexual desire. “Help him, Thor. He knows what he’s asking, and he’s _asking for you_.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

He woke the next morning with his arms wrapped around a very warm, very shaggy pillow and a deep, but satisfied ache all through his body. He slowly opened his eyes, watching the sun glint off the golden fur of his pillow, off of his definite not-brother. His _Lover_. A man that had accepted him for what and how he was. A man that had come when he had called and had calmed the raging fire that had burned, unbidden through his body. It had been his thirteenth Heat and the first that he had wanted, nay, _needed_ , to share with another. It had been more intense than any that he had experienced before and the conclusion, he thought, was very satisfactory.

He snuggled deeper into the other man’s side, chuckling a bit at his curled up sleeping position. He stroked the fur, thick and soft, sweet-smelling, noting that the other man had gone through the act of bathing and combing the golden hair that covered every inch of his muscled form. He had done it for him, he knew, which made him love the other man even more. It made him want to stay, not travel to Jotunnheim, as promised, but duty, unfortunately, called.

The golden body stirred in his arms, releasing a long sigh. “Thor?” Loki whispered, watching the other man’s ears swivel as he picked up his voice, no longer lusty. The warmer body shifted, uncurling into a languid, almost feline stretch, complete with a groan. The muscles flexed and pulled in such a way that even the fur couldn’t hide it, making Loki recall what it felt like to have that body dominate him so completely. The hard muscles held him tightly but tenderly, the curved claws scraped along his back, the golden hair tickling and stimulating his hyper-sensitive ridges, the cool nose snuffling along his neck and collarbone, the sandpaper tongue licking the juncture.

Thor rolled over to face him, his body automatically curling in as he smiled that strange, lupine smile around his underbite. Loki ran his fingers along the other man’s cheek and up around one of his ears. “Good morning,” he whispered.

“Loki, I am so sor-” Thor started, worry flickering across his face.

“Why?” he cut the other ‘monster’ off. “I finally have you in my bed. There is nothing to apologize for. Unless you think that this - us, we’re a mistake.”

“No,” the other man breathed, leaning into his fingers. “I do not regret anything, Loki.”

He sighed, smiling with all his fangs. “This is all in poor timing. I’ll be leaving for Jotunnheim in a few hours and I assume that you are going to retreat back into your sanctuary.” The unspoken question hung between them.

Thor sighed. “Twenty-six years of wallowing in hiding, filled with self-pity is plenty enough for me. It’s time that I got back out into the world. After all, what sort of heir would I be if I did not at least attend council meetings?” He laughed, joining the odd, growly chuckle of the golden man.

“I-” He stopped, not wanting to say anything that could ruin what he had in that moment with his not-brother. His confession could wait until another day. He started again. “I am very proud of you, Thor.”

The other man cocked his head. “And I am proud of you Loki. You’ve inspired me to move on, to look past my exterior and be the man that our parents raised - a leader doesn’t abandon his troops or his people because of a few personal setbacks, now does he?”


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's said that distance makes the heart grow fonder

**Chapter 6**

Leaving had been that hardest thing he had ever done. He felt like he was leaving a piece of himself behind in Asgard, and, in a way, he was. His Heat, while producing what was arguably the best night of his life, had come at an inconvenient time. The Jotunn, as a people, took the act of intercourse very seriously, with Heats followed by bonding, and, usually concluded with an agreement struck. The agreement was usually a semblance of joint custody of the potential offspring (many offspring didn’t survive the harsh Jotunnheim winters), a promise of another mating during another Heat, or, what was most common, a marriage. A Heat drew the Jotunn together, binding them in mutual affection, regardless of the outcome.

He had known when he had left that he was in love with Thor and that he had been for a long time. He also knew that the Thunderer was in a difficult place, torn between his ‘new’ form and his duty to his country. He was future king of Asgard, raised to rule his people, not the partner in marriage to a runty Jotunn with a less than pristine past. Besides, they were raised as brothers and, while they had laid together, Thor could have been helping in his desperation, in his base need. He had claimed to not regret his decision, but he had not said everything that he had wanted to say. Loki knew that he was keeping something from him, though what that something was, he could not say. That, and the other man had not asked him to stay - did that mean that he didn’t want him in the way that he wanted him?

He sighed morosely, his steps leading him through the snow, the wind whipping his cape behind him. The streets, if broken cobbles filled with frost heaves could be called streets, were empty, the morning still early. It was his favorite time of day. It was what had saved him really, waking early and catching the end of the aurora borealis that played through the night, and realizing that he was part of an amazing and beautiful universe. Every realm was distinct, individual; their peoples diverse. Each population had grown and developed to best live to the fullest extent on their own planet. And some, like himself - like Thor, lived in multiple worlds. And now, they just happened to be apart.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Ironically, the world seemed colder and less bright without the Jotunn in it. Part of the reason was because he had taken his first blundering, staggering steps into the throne room in his best pair of breeches, the largest shirt he owned (Which he had squeezed into with the help of his mute maid), and his scarlet cape, and was surrounded by the voices of the populace. The reveal certainly shocked the Aesir. It was in those moments that he wished Loki were beside him. He rolled his shoulders, squaring them, and stood as straight as he could, reminding himself that his not-brother had done this and so could he. He was going to rule Asgard someday, whether he looked like the golden god that everyone knew or if he looked like an Aesir-animal hybrid that ate raw meat and longed for the cool intimate touch of a Jotunn runt. It was the truth of the matter and it something that he had to face on his own.

He sighed, counting the days until Loki’s return, continuing his diligent training for the crown. He attended all of Odin’s meetings, listening and retaining as much as he could so that he could be as good a ruler as his father. He made it back to the training ring, sparring, sans Mjölnir (who still would not budge), with Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. He quickly regained his physique and his prowess as a warrior, fighting with every weapon available, including his claws and, if pressed, his jaws.

As the months passed, his appearance among the general populace of the palace became less of a surprise. The beast became synonymous with ‘Thor’ and they became one in the same. Other realms sent dignitaries, and they too learned of his fate. Marriage offers, given centuries ago, were quietly withdrawn as princesses and duchesses saw him in his hairy, jowled, and clawed form. He was fine with it, his heart consumed with longing for the one person that he knew he couldn’t have.

_ _ _ _ _ _

He stood at the Bifrost, determined to let the man know his true feelings as soon as he returned. There was nothing that he wanted more. It was all that he had focused on in his moments of solitude for the last six months. He only hoped that Loki felt the same. It was that hope that had given him the courage to leave the relative safety of the palace grounds to walk through the streets of Asgard and down the Bifrost to stand beside his father and mother. To wait for the man that completed him.

He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, his claws catching on the grooves in the golden floor. His eyes roved about the golden sphere, stopping on the open sky. It was filled with millions upon millions of stars, and, out there, somewhere, was Jotunnheim and Loki. Heimdall was transfixed, his odd golden orbs seeing in a second what he would never be able to see in a life time.

“It is time,” the man in the golden armor intoned evenly. He thrust his great sword into the console and aimed it towards the Frozen Realm. Thor danced from foot to foot, his front ‘paws’ aching to hold the slim, cool body against his fur again. The Observatory spun, the Bifrost whirring, pulling the Jotunn home.

As Loki responded to the pull and materialized in the golden room, it took so much restraint to remain where he was, keeping his feet firmly planted. The blue figure that emerged from the rainbow stream of light was different from the one that had left. His blue, Aesir eyes roved up and down the lean, blue body, still traversed with intricate silver lines and accented by a pair of rubies under a pair of arching slate grey horns. His black braid was thrown over his shoulder, running along his body, down passed his bottom now, thick and shining. It was what drew him to the changes first. That, and one of Loki’s slim hands placed protectively over his abdomen where there was a noticeable swell. His chest, concealed partially under his cloak, had rounded too, ready to provide nourishment for the life that he held inside him.

“Loki,” he breathed, a mix of emotions running through his body like a strange cocktail. Hope. Despair. Desperation. Worry. Love. His eyes flitted back to the rounded stomach. “Congratulations,” he rumbled roughly, “Will we meet the lucky father?”

The blue man’s brow wrinkled, his lips parting slightly. “You would think so low of me that you would think that I would whore my way through my negotiations with the Jotunn? That this child, conceived with such love with the most wonderful being in all the Nine, did not belong to the only man that I have ever lain with?” Tears appeared in the younger man’s eyes. “Thor,” he continued hoarsely, “This-” He stroked his abdomen tenderly. “Is _your child_.”

The admission hit him solidly in the gut and in his chest. He suddenly couldn’t breathe, his heart stopped in his chest as it constricted. “Mine?” he gasped.

“Yes, Thor,” the Jotunn insisted, striding forward to stop mere inches in front of him. He gently picked up one of his inhuman hands with both of his, cool phalanges wrapping around the rough pads, and placed in on the bulge. “Yours.” He beamed, fangs flashing in the golden light. “Ours.”

“You-you want me in this child’s life?” he asked, feeling the miracle move beneath his fingers.

“Of course I do,” Loki replied. “I love you.”

His heart stopped. “I love you, Loki,” he murmured, “And this child.” He leaned down, snuffling the juncture between the Frost Giant’s neck and shoulder tenderly, wishing that he were Aesir and could kiss the other man’s lips, like he deserved.

Loki’s cool arms wrapped around his thick neck, his fingers weaving themselves into the long fur. The horned head leaned into his jowl, cool breath playing through the shorter fur that grew there. The closeness was something that he had been missing. To have contact with another being was the most amazing feeling in all the Nine Realms. The strength in the embrace, found in the other man’s arms, the firmness in his stance, the softness on his chest and belly that contoured his own body around it.


	8. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First comes love, then comes....

**Chapter 7**

“But Loki,” the God of Thunder practically whined, “I cannot raise a child. Look at me: I am an animal - a _beast_. I cannot hold it for lack of proper hands, I cannot change it or feed it or clothe it. I cannot _kiss_ it - I cannot kiss you.”

“Thor,” he countered, “You are not raising this child on your own. I am here and I am as equal in my non-Aesir nature as you. That is certainly not going to make me _less_ of a parent, why do you think it will make you less of a father?”

The furred man stared at him as if seeing him for the first time with his protruding belly and his heavy breasts covered in azure skin. “But you are beautiful,” the blonde whispered. “If only our child was exactly like you.”

The Jotunn blushed, feeling the blood rise in his cheeks. “And you think that you are not? What is wrong with you, Thor? I am the one carrying this child and suffering from the bouts of raging hormones and lack of sleep! You have not right to be telling me this! You are raising this child with me - that is the end of it!”

He felt bad for snapping. His lover, though significantly larger when standing on his ‘back’ legs, cowered before him like a kicked dog, eyes wide with devotion and terror. He ran a hand over his face, his claws rubbing the ice-carrying ridges, soothing his sudden anger. “Look,” he said calmly, “I know that you are scared. I’m scared too - _terrified_ in fact. This child - it is destined to dwell among the gods in a form that they may find unsavory with two parents who, while high-standing nobles, are not married and not Aesir. It will have _no_ standing and _no_ prospects, and will, most likely, not look what the general populace of this realm deems _normal_.”

He stopped his rant, catching Thor’s shocked expression. He shifted gears and continued. “But it is _ours_ , Thor. And that means that _it will be loved_ and doted upon. Isn’t that all that matters?” He knelt, with some difficulty, so that he could cup one of his lover’s warm cheeks. “I _love_ you. This child will love you. Why do we need to worry about what hasn’t come yet? One step at a time.” He smiled and leaned forward, placing a cool kiss on the end of the other man’s wet nose. “Which, right now, is helping me get off the floor.”

He laughed merrily at his predicament. His lack of finesse and flexibility as well as his now general clumsiness was perplexing. But, then again, with the babe resting between his hips and ribcage, he had never not been able to see his toes before either.

Warm, rough padded hands wrapped tenderly around his bulbous body and helped him to rise to his slightly swollen feet. “Thank you,” he murmured, leaning heavily into the other man’s chest. “Do not doubt that I love you, Thor. I do. _More than anything._ ”

“It is I who should be thanking you, Loki, for reminding me that there is much that I cannot control.” He cupped his sharp chin in his massive paw. “I desperately want to kiss you.”

He smiled back sadly, wishing that he could too.

_ _ _ _ _ _

He walked through the halls, accompanied by the constant click of his claws and his thoughts. Loki had raised a fair point during their heated debate earlier. Their child will not be welcomed here, or on any other realm for that matter. He needed to speak with his parents, their wisdom would help provide the guidance he so desperately needed.

He was pleased to find his mother and father in his mother’s private sitting room, enjoying their afternoon tea. He bowed deeply, unable to drop to a nonexistent knee, pressing a fist over his heart. “My King, my Queen,” he intoned reverently. “May I speak with you?”

His mother smiled brightly, as always, pleased to see him despite everything. “Of course, Thor,” she replied, “Shall we have something brought for you?”

Heat rushed to his cheeks. He had yet to partake in anything, food or drink, in front of his parents, hiding the beast from them. “No, thank you for your kind offer.”

“Rise,” Odin intoned, focusing intently on him with interest. “What is troubling you, my Son?”

He rose from his bow, tilting his head slightly. “Am I still you Son?” he asked.

Odin’s brow furrowed as he frowned. “Thor. You are my _only_ born. My one true Son and Heir. So long as you breathe, none can take that title from you.”

“Even though I am unworthy to wield the mighty Mjölnir?” he asked.

“Thor,” Frigga cut in, “You are not unworthy. You have just lost faith in yourself and you question your worth. Mjölnir will respond to you when you believe in yourself again.” She smiled kindly, offering a hand to him. He stepped forward and sat on his haunches, taking her hand in one of his while the other skimmed the floor, retaining his balance. “But that is not the question that you seek the answer to, is it?”

“No,” he exhaled, hanging his head. “I worry about my child. As prince of the realm, I wish to acknowledge it, make it mine own, and if it is male, make it my heir. I will not allow Loki to bear a bastard.”

“I cannot allow that. _Loki_ is not a marriage prospect,” Odin replied, fixing him in his one-eyed gaze.

“Are you saying that I should take him as my mistress? _Why_? Why should he not be my consort? I love him and he is of noble birth! There are no women of upstanding birth that are wishing to lay with this bestial body. They have all dissipated like morning mist, disgusted by what they see.” His eyes turned pleading, “Why should I not wed Loki - before his time and thus make our child my heir? Is it because he is Jotunn?” He rose quickly, backing away from the contrary king. “At least he is of the Nine!” he yelled, his voice taking on a gravelly growling timbre, “ _LOOK AT ME! THIS IS YOUR SON - YOUR HEIR! A BEAST THAT BELONGS NO WHERE!”_

“Thor!” Frigga snapped, “Be respectful of your king!”

Odin threw up a hand. “No, Frigga,” he said quietly, “He speaks the truth. Who am I to deny my Son happiness? To keep him from the man he loves, the man who is carrying his child? It would be cruel, even more cruel than the curse that has been laid upon him.” He turned, his face becoming kind as he scanned over his less than perfect form. His hand, strong despite the age spots that dwelt there, slowly descended until it touched his broad shoulder. He shivered under the touch, turning his massive head to look at the other man’s hand. “I give you my blessing, Thor. Marry your Loki, make him your consort. May he help you rule the realms wisely.”

Frigga squeezed his hand-paw tightly. “Tomorrow, bring him here at sunset and I will perform the ceremony. It would be my deepest honor and greatest happiness to see my two sons wed.”

He smiled is ugly smile, tears coming to his Aesir eyes. He blinked, the liquid running down his cheeks and soaking into his fur. “Thank you,” he choked, “Thank you for your kindness.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Thor, honestly, where are we going?” he asked for what seemed to be the twelfth time. His steps were becoming more belabored as his time drew closer and his body ached in places that he never knew it could.

The larger man chuckled happily, his secret concealed, though his impossibly blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “Shall I carry you, my poor Loki?”

“And be thus disgraced?” he snorted, “I think not. I am perfectly capable of walking. But-” He stopped, turning to face the furred man, pressing a hand into the small of his back, “Are we going to get where we’re going soon?”

“Yes,” the other man chortled, positively beaming with joy.

He began to waddle again, thankful for the arm that the Thunderer had now wrapped around his waist. “What has put you in such a fine mood?” he grumbled, confused. Thor had been so out of sorts the previous day, something wonderful must have happened to have shifted to this new extreme. If the man had been cursed with a winged form, he would be soaring a thousand miles up in the air right now.

“You will see,” he whispered in reply, his cool nose tickling his ear. Loki shivered, the warm breath stimulating the ridges there. He leaned over, resting his cheek against the heated body, his horns arching over the other man’s muscular shoulder.

“Lead on then, oh noble Thor,” he murmured playfully, allowing himself to be led through the halls of Asgard, past the Aesir who gave the pair odd, disapproving, or downright hate-filled looks. The fact that neither one of them had lost favor with the rulers of Asgard set the populace on edge. Two monsters given free rein, as it were, among the noble Aesir.

Thor stopped outside of their mother’s private sitting room, his free paw pushing the doors inward. The opened doors revealed hundreds of lit candles and an archway made of intertwining flowers under which the Allfather and Allmother stood. Frigga was dressed in white and silver, her husband in white and gold, his armor shining in the sunlight from the setting orb.

“What is all this?” he asked, his eyes flickering about the room as he dropped his jaw in a rather undignified manner. “It’s so beautiful.” He turned to face Thor, curious.

The other man dropped to the ground beside him onto ‘three’ legs, reaching the other hand up towards him. “Thor, what are you doing?” he asked, placing his free hand on the side of his stomach.

“I know that this is the part where I’m supposed to get down on one knee, but, as I lack those, this is the closest I can get,” the other man said tenderly, his eyes, the same as they had always been, were sincere. “Loki Laufeyson, the bearer of my unborn child, will you do the honor of being my consort, my partner for life?”

He gaped, his eyes flooding with icy tears as his heart swelled with unbridled love. “Thor, I-” he stammered in coherently. “You-you want to marry me?”

The other man nodded, his eyes shining with tears. “Yes,” he replied, voice rough and raw with emotion.

“And you organized all this for-for me?” He was trying his hardest to wrap his head around the notion of Thor, not only loving him, but wanting to be with him for the rest of eternity. The Thunderer nodded again, smiling his odd, wolfish grin. “Y-yes,” he stammered, his tears flowing down his face and freezing along the ridges. “Yes. It would be my honor to be your partner, my Prince.”

“Then, shall we begin?” Frigga, Goddess of Marriage asked, beaming from beneath the archway, her arms open to them. Even Odin looked pleased beneath his stoic gaze, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He nodded, any capacity to speak lost in his joyful bliss and the reciprocated emotions found in the eyes of the man beside him.


	9. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waiting is the worst, but it's always worth it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief depiction of childbirth

**Chapter 8**

The waiting was worst. Listening through the doors but being barred from being there beside his beloved in his time of need. He could hear Loki’s increasingly weak cries through the thick oak door that separated them and he struggled to not break down the door with Mjölnir (hanging faithfully at his hip once again) and rush to the smaller man’s side. His pacing had dropped to his four ‘legs’ after the first hour of waiting. That was seven hours ago and his nerves were fraying badly.

His parents had come shortly after Loki had gone into labor, his mother followed by a contingent of healers and a midwife. Even as the Jotunn had insisted repeatedly that he wanted Thor beside him, their mother had given him a gentle smile and shoved him, unceremoniously, into his father’s surprisingly strong grasp. The Allfather, in turn, had pushed him from the room, his claws leaving long scratches in the marble as he tried valiantly to resist.

“Thor,” his father muttered wearily for what must have been the three hundredth time, “He will be fine, he is in good and capable hands. Pacing is only going to tire you and, with a newborn to care for, there is no sense in having both of you exhausted beyond measure.”

He stopped, tearing his gaze off the door to meet the intense gaze of the one, all-seeing eye. “He’s been at it for so long now. What if there are complications? What if there’s something wrong?” He sat, tail curling around his toes, his fingers drumming a tattoo on the floor.

“There is nothing that you can do that your Mother and the healers cannot.” The older god smiled. “He will be just fine, as will the child. It is still early yet.”

“ _EARLY?!_ ” he roared, leaping up in alarm. “It’s been eight hours!”

“And some labors last for nearly twenty. You were particularly difficult, as I recall, part of the reason why we opted for adoption.”

“That’s why you stole Loki? Because I was difficult to birth?” He glared at the other man accusingly.

“No,” Odin replied, “I saved him.” He leaned forward in his seat. “He was so small, abandoned at birth, is my guess. Laufey would never have left him to die if he had realized the power that his new son had.” His eye took on a far-off, glassy quality as he continued softly. “But, there he was, squalling amid the storm, naked and alone on an alter. An offering to the Gods of Winter to ensure Jotunn victory. I couldn’t leave him, not after so much blood had been spilled by my spear. He was innocent, newly birthed. So I picked him up and he changed before my eyes, shifting his skin to match mine.”

“Loki can shift his form?” he asked, staring blankly at the juncture where the floor met the wall. Confused.

“Yes,” the King of Asgard replied. “He’s always been particularly talented at it.”

“But you stole that power from him when you banished him to Jotunnheim.”

“I took it from him until he could see value in all life. He has had the ability to become what ever form he pleases for nearly twenty years now. Of course, living among the Jotunn on Jotunnheim, it would be wise to wear his natural skin.”

He could feel the intense gaze of the Allfather on him and yet, he kept his gaze low and unfocused. “Then, why does he remain they way he is? In his Jotunn form, where the people around him view him as nothing more than a monster in Aesir clothing?”

“That would be a question to ask Loki, though I speculate that it has something to do with you, my Son.” He looked up and was greeted by a rare smile from his father.

“Me?”

“Yes,” he replied, the smile becoming soft about the edges, “So that you are not alone.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

All thoughts of wanting to castrate if not kill Thor dissipated with one sweet, high sound. He felt as if he had been split in half, everything aching, and he had lost nearly all of his fight when his mother had said, “I see a head. At the next contraction push.”

And he had, bearing down with his last ounce of strength as he roared. Then the pain had stopped, replaced by the beautiful sound. His child’s first breath and it’s first cry. Tears ran down his face from sheer exhaustion and complete joy.

“Congratulations, Loki,” Frigga said beaming as she looked down at the squirming bundle in her arms, “It’s a boy. You have given Thor an heir.”

He laid back, his horns clunking against the headboard as his chest heaved and he sobbed. The healers busied themselves around him and his baby, which never once left the Allmother’s arms or his sight. A cool cloth cleaned his tired frame, ridding it of ice, sweat, and blood. Another nurse rebraided his thick, tangled hair. The sheets, covered in after birth and placenta, were changed, he was tucked in comfortably and the women left, leaving him alone with his mother and his child.

“May I see him?” he asked, excited but exhausted.

“Of course,” Frigga replied, walking over to him and offering the bundle to his waiting arms. “He will probably want to eat soon, as will you, I suspect.” He smiled, his eyes fixed on the child before him.

The babe was a combination of Thor and himself, of that it was very clear. His face was long and very much like his own, except tanned and Aesir. His ears were pointed and long with fur covering the tip and the back. His head was covered in fine chocolate brown hair that transitioned to fur at the nape of his neck. The fur tailed down his neck and along his spine to a short tail. His fingers and toes were tipped in short, curved claws. His arms and upper chest had thin, raised light blue ridges, matching his own in those places. With a sigh, the babe woke, his violet eyes blinking sleepily at him. “Hello, beautiful Little One,” he murmured, tracing a chubby cheek with a finger, careful not to scratch the soft, warm surface with his sharp, ebony claw.

His eyes flickered upwards to meet his mother’s. “Where is Thor? He should be here to greet his child.”

She smiled back at him. “I’m sure that he’ll come bounding in as soon as I open the doors. Are you sure you wouldn’t like peace and quiet a bit longer?”

He chuckled, his gaze returned to his beautiful baby boy, “Please, let him in.” He heard her feet leave his bedside and go to the doorway of the bedroom that he shared with his beloved. The door creaked open slowly and he listened as his mother pronounced the good news.

“Congratulations, Thor. You have a son.”

The pronouncement was followed by the scramble of four ‘feet,’ claws skittering across the marble. He looked up, finding his partner paused in the doorway, halfway between a crouch and his full height. He smiled at him brightly through his exhaustion. “Come, my Love,” he murmured, “Meet our child, your heir.”

The Thunderer staggered towards the bed, his eyes shining with tears, his wolfy grin plastered onto his face. He dropped a hand to the mattress and gave it a pat. “Come, lay beside me. Hold your child.”

The other man obeyed, shifting awkwardly to half lay, half sit beside him, his body heat providing comfort. Slowly, carefully, he shifted the bundled and sleeping babe into the other man’s massive paw-like hands. “Support his head,” he instructed, smiling tenderly, “Yes, like that. Do you have his bottom? Yes, good. Now hold him against your chest, share your warmth, for Norns know I have none.”

Thor looked terrified and exceedingly uncomfortable, holding the fragile infant in his strong hands. “Loki,” he breathed, “He looks like you.”

“In the face, maybe, but he shares some of your features as well, Darling.” He leaned his head into the furry shoulder. “What shall we name your heir, my Lord?” He turned to place a gentle kiss on the shoulder that he had rested his cheek upon. “Hmm?”

“I-I, um..., I don’t know, Loki.” His eyes flickered to his briefly before they both focused their attention back on their perfect child. “I can’t think of anything that would seem appropriate for a child of such standing, of such importance.”

“What about Úlfur?” he asked, a finger stroking the short, soft fur on his baby’s head.

“Wolf? You would name him after an animal?” He could sense the other man bristling and quickly backtracked.

“Wolves are proud creatures, Thor, but if you do not like it, I shall try again. How about Fenrir?” He planted another kiss onto the other man’s shoulder.

“Yes,” his lover whispered, “That is perfect. Fenrir, Prince of Asgard.”

Fenrir began to whimper and shake his little fists, starling his father, who quickly handed him back to his eager, blue hands. “What did I do?” he asked, wide-eyed.

“Nothing, Thor,” he breathed, pulling the sheets down to reveal his aching and leaking breasts. “He is just hungry.” He offered the child him bosom and felt him latch greedily, pulling the nutrients he created into his empty belly. “See.” He beamed at the other man, who shifted his lupine-esque form, curling around his body and sharing his heat. “He will grow to be a strong one, like his father.”

“Nay,” Thor said deep in his chest, “Like his bearer, who remains a monster to comfort his father.”

Loki’s brow furrowed and he met the other man’s loving, blue eyes. “What makes you say that?” he asked, a sinking feel in his stomach. “I am Jotunn, and that I shall always be.”

“But you can shift your form at will and yet you remain, a blue, horned monster. Do you feel like I could not handle it if you reverted back to your Aesir form?” he asked, his voice still low but slightly accusatory.

“You think I am this way because I wish to make _you_ feel _comfortable_?” he hissed back, fangs bared. “What if I choose to wear this form because, for the first time in my millennia of living, that I feel like my _true self_?” He paused. “Does that _disgust_ you, Thor? That I _like_ being ice and winter?”

His husband shook his head. “No, no, Loki,” he murmured, leaning closer, his hot breath causing his ridges to tingle. “I am proud of my Jotunn consort and I just wanted to be sure that you were comfortable in your form. To know that you chose it for yourself and not for me.”

He laughed, relieved but filled with mischief. “Thor,” he gasped through his chuckled, “You should know me well enough by now that I do not need your approval. _I do what I want._ ”


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten Years Later

**Epilogue**

_Ten Years Later_

“Loki!” the sound of his lover’s voice carried through the halls, followed by the laughter of the children and their shouts of glee. He had wished that he could have been with them on their trip to the lake that he and Thor had visited in their youth but the heat was bothering him, particularly this late in his pregnancy, his time a little over a month away. He closed his book and setting it on the table beside his settee as the door banged open.

“Hello My Darlings,” he said beaming, opening his arms to his family. “How was your trip to the lake?”

Fenrir, a strapping tall boy of nine beamed back at him, his fangs flashing in the sunlight, presented a bouquet of half-wilted flowers and a handful of pebbles to him. “Oh, such rich gifts!” he said, kissing his eldest on his lightly furred cheek and stroking his fur-lined spine. “Thank you, my Darling!” The boy snuggled into his cool embrace on his right side, allowing his attention to shift to his soon to be middle child.

“And you, Dísa, my Love? Did you have a wonderful time with your brother and your father?” She smiled back at him shyly, her own teeth, blunt except for a couple of pairs of fangs that start from her canines.

“Yes, Papa,” she said, her chocolate eyes glittering with such joy. “Daddy taught us to swim and Fenny and I caught a frog and let it go, even though I wanted to bring it home to you. He was a very nice frog.” He smiled back at her, ruffling her thick chestnut curls that tumbled down her back, pushing them away from her horn nubs. She was five and much more like his lover than himself in regards to her rambunctious personality. She did, however, have light blue skin, chased with silvery accents, reminiscent of his ridges but not following a pattern, instead highlighting her fine bone structure. She had a small snout, barely noticeable in comparison to Thor’s, and black nails but no claws. No fur, even on her pointed ears, and no tail.

He drew her into his other side, placing a kiss on her temple. “It sounds like you had a wonderful trip.” He beamed up at his lover who sat before him, a hand on his rounded stomach.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Are you comfortable, Loki?” he asked again, fluffing and rearranging the pillows on the bed yet again. A cool hand covered his furred one.

“I am fine, Thor. Stop you fussing.” The blue man smiled his beautiful smile, squeezing his hand. “I am fine.” He watched the other man roll to his other side and grab something from the bedside table, holding it behind his back. “In fact, I am better than fine.”

He uncurled a bit and cocked his head curiously, nostrils flaring. _Nothing smells different._ “Is there a reason for that?” he queried, his curiosity peaked.

Loki’s smile became took on a mischievous quality. “Do you recall what today is, Thor?”

He closed his eyes, scrambling to remember the significance of this date in early May. _Early May_. “It is the twelfth anniversary of your return, is it not?”

“It is, and it is the thirty-sixth of our joined monster-hood, if you recall.”

He closed his eyes and nodded. “I remember.” A cool hand stroked his cheek while the other slid something heavy on his wrist.

A shock ran through his body, a sweet pain encompassing his limbs and torso before wrapping around his head. Loki’s cool fingers stopped their stroking and paused, holding his cheek. As the strange, brief pain eased, the cold hand pulled is face forward to meet icy but tender lips. _Lips. I am kissing Loki_.

His eyes snapped open with the realization, breaking to kiss with a startled cry. “Happy Anniversary, Thor,” his husband murmured. “It is but temporary, I fear, but I needed to know the touch of your lips on mine, just once.”

He raised a hand and touched his partner’s cheek, feeling the rough texture for the first time and marveling at the contrast between the deep blue and the tan of his natural skin. His free hand traced his arm and felt his face. His handsome, Aesir face, with lips and a nose. His beard was a bit unkempt, as was his hair, but it was his face. He rolled onto his back, knees bent, reveling in the lack of a tail and the ability to bend at his knees.

“What is this?” he asked, seeing the decorative gold cuff that Loki had placed on his wrist.

“I enchanted it to reveal the truth of whatever it touches. In this case, your _true_ form.” He paused, suddenly looking a bit unsure. “Before you get any ideas, it will only last an hour upon each wearing before it will need to be recharged.”

He sat quickly, again, pleased at the lack of tail, and quickly said, “Then there is something that I must do!” He slid from the bed and knelt upon one knee, taking one of Loki’s hands in both of his, tears springing to his eyes.

“Oh, Thor,” the other man murmured, tears flooding into his ruby eyes.

He smiled tenderly. “Loki Laufeyson, the love of my life, the bearer of my children, will you do me the honor of being my consort, my husband, my partner for eternity?”

The other man smiled as he cried, the tears freezing against his skin. He nodded, his horns bobbing vigorously. His reply, however, was pure God of Mischief. “I’d say, as I lay here impregnated with your third child, that it is a bit late to turn back now.”

He chuckled joyously, and leaned carefully over the edge of the bed, taking his warm lips again with his cool pair. “Mmm,” the Jotunn hummed, “There is nothing sweeter in all the Nine than your lips.”

“I think that yours could give mine a run for their money,” he replied, deepening the kiss.

It was the fastest hour of his life, of that he was certain. He was also certain that it was the best gift that he had ever been given. As his body shivered, bones reforming, tail and snout forcing themselves outward, fur erupting along his limbs and spine, Loki held him, sliding the spent cuff from his wrist and leaving his lips pressed to his, remaining even as the lips vanished, pressing a tender kiss to his wet nose.

“I love you, Thor,” the Jotunn murmured, his claws playing through his soft, golden fur.

“And I love you, Loki,” he replied, pressing his snout lovingly to the juncture of the blue man’s neck and shoulder. Carefully, he arranged his body to curl contentedly around the other man’s rounded stomach, a paw on his shoulder, a ‘hind’ leg slung over the Jotunn’s bent leg, content and happy.

 _A monster and a beast, with their growing brood of beautiful creatures,_ he thought with a smile _, wanting nothing more except maybe a pair of lips._

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic. As aforementioned, I have another, more involved version of this story that I'm currently editing. It'll be posted once it's done. Also, as always, I've posted the whole story because waiting is the worst!

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first version of this work. There is a second, more-fleshed out version, that I will post eventually. Thanks for reading!


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